


Ministry shenanigans

by Delilah14



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 09:54:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5123297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delilah14/pseuds/Delilah14
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Ron are auror partners, Malfoy does secretarial work in their department. When a lengthy, recently solved case is sabotaged, Harry finds help to pick up the pieces from an unexpected source. Featuring hot-headed Harry and snarky Draco. And Moppins, who never appears in person, but has a contributory part to play.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ministry shenanigans

Still laughing at Ron's terrible excuse for a knock knock joke, Harry shouldered his way through the doors to the open plan auror office. Casually sending his cloak floating off to the coat stand, he made his way over to his desk, mentally planning a quiet hour or two of paperwork, (also known as dozing at his desk), followed by an early as possible end to the working day and a visit to the staff gym. His biggest case to date, lasting over half a year, had been broken and was awaiting the preliminary hearing before the Wizengamot, so he felt entitled to kick back a little and let the legal people do their job.

He and Ron had spent the morning, and far too much of the afternoon, being what amounted to Public Relations representatives for the Auror department at the Diagon Alley trade guild's AGM. Mind and bum numbingly dull, he was just relieved it was over for another year. Knowing he'd have to do it again in twelve months time added to the pit of gloom that seemed to reside in his stomach, otherwise comprised of the many issues that had served to disappoint him since qualifying as an auror. Still, in his hand he held a bag containing a delicious mozzarella, tomato and pesto panini; a gooey, and, he felt, well deserved reward for the torture he had just endured.

Ron stopped to grab a couple of reports from his desk, then raised a hand in farewell.

"I'm off, Harry, can't be late. Plus, Robards might conveniently forget he promised I could leave early if he sees me, and Hermione will hex me if I'm not on time. The appointment with the wizarding estate agent is in twenty minutes, I'll let you know later how it goes."

Harry grinned. "Good luck. The cottage looks gorgeous - I hope it's as nice as it looks on paper. Let me know." Privately, he thought they were insane looking to buy somewhere only five minutes from Ron's parents, but it wasn't his business. Ron waved again, then dashed out of the door. Harry relaxed in his chair, and reached for the bag containing his sandwich. Before he could get to it, however, a voice interrupted.

"Excuse me, Auror Potter, Head Auror Robards would like to see you in his office. Immediately."

Harry swivelled in his seat, to regard the aurors' resident secretary with a jaded eye and a lopsided grin.

"Really, Malfoy, now? I can't even eat my lunch?"

Malfoy remained serious, and inclined his head.

"I'm afraid not, Auror Potter, he was insistent."

Harry groaned, slumped back in his chair and then made a gesture of defeat. 

"Fine, I'll be right there." He stared at Malfoy as the secretary made his way back to his own desk, and, not for the first time, wondered who had stolen the man's personality and left him as this characterless shell of his former self. Since joining the Ministry over a year earlier, Malfoy had conducted himself in an exemplary fashion; displaying beautiful manners, working efficiently and not once showing signs of the snarky, sarky git he'd been at Hogwarts. This despite the fact that quite a few members of the Auror department took great delight in mocking him, disparaging his efforts and outright sabotaging his work. 

As he'd pushed for Malfoy's freedom at the post war trials, and also responded to Narcissa Malfoy's request that he help her son find work, Harry had never partaken in any of these activities, ('though he couldn't say the same for Ron), but he was puzzled about the changes in his former rival. He'd tried various methods of initiating discussions with Malfoy, but the other man seemed to be an expert at parrying and avoiding, and had not responded to any of Harry's conversational gambits. Which Harry found very frustrating. And intriguing. Still, he was better off pondering on this than wondering about how soft Malfoy's hair would feel if he was to run his hand over it when walking past his desk. Which was not something he was comfortable thinking about, even with his relaxed attitude to his own sexuality.

Leaving the auror office, Harry stomped gloomily along to the Head Auror's chambers. He had no idea what this was about, but felt a twinge of anxiety when Robard's terrifying personal assistant, Zelda, gave him her version of a sympathetic smile as he passed her to enter the main office. Robards glanced up at him from the other side of his massive desk, and made a harrumphing noise.

"Ah, Potter, good, good. Thanks for coming in. Not much time, I'm accompanying the Minister on an important visit to Glasgow shortly, so I'll cut to the chase. We've had to release Garson and Tring." He shuffled the papers he was holding and cleared his throat.

Harry's feet seemed to stutter on the thick carpet, and it took some time to find any words to respond to this statement. When he did, they seemed insufficient and paltry, and his tongue felt too big for his mouth.

"What? No. Hang on.....sorry.....what?"

Robards glared at him. "Garson and Tring. We've had to let them go. Shocking lack of evidence, good alibis for both of them, no cause to keep them in custody any longer. Bit of a shame, but there you go. These things happen. Onwards and upwards. Now, if that's all, I'm afraid I have to be going, I'll answer any further questions later on, but it's all in the report here." He stood and extended his hand, passing a buff coloured folder over to Harry, who took it automatically, still staring at his boss with wild eyes. Robards strode from his office at speed, and Zelda appeared, ushering Harry from the room whilst making soothing noises.

Harry had no memory of the walk back to the auror office, his head whirling with his brain's effort to understand what he had just been told. As he reached his desk, however, the full implications of what Robards had just said finally hit him, and he felt his anger burst out of him as he flung the folder onto his already messy desk surface, letting out a healthy mix of swear words as he did so. The other six aurors in the room eyed him nervously as he leant on his desk with both hands, bending his head and closing his eyes in an effort to control his temper and his magic. After a few moments, he opened his eyes, lifted his head and looked around the room. Speaking through gritted teeth, he addressed his colleagues.

"Does anyone here know the actual fuck why that fuckwit Robards has released my suspects? The suspects I've spent the last six months carefully tracking in order to ensure we had sufficient evidence to arrest them, waiting until we had a clear cut case, freezing my arse off for hours on end and giving up every sodding weekend for months?"

The silence felt electric for several seconds, and then Whitnell, one of the more recent recruits to the service, said with some bravado:

"Doesn't it say in the report you brought in with you?"

Harry turned and glared at Whitnell.

"I'm sure there is an explanation in the folder, but I doubt very much that it gives the real reasons. Because there is no way in hell that those two disgusting scrotes are back out and free to start using dark magic to run their delightful little sex trafficking ring again without some serious jiggery fucking pokery going on. FUCK!" 

With this last, bellowed expletive, Harry's already shaky hold on his magic gave way, causing all of the files on his desk to explode in a fountain of paperwork, both his mugs to crack in half and the framed photographs of Teddy to soar into the air and crash to the ground nearby. His chair swivelled crazily, rocking and emitting a loud humming noise. A pot plant sailed off the end of his desk and flung itself against the closed window in what looked like a valiant attempt to escape. Harry's much anticipated sandwich simply vanished into thin air, leaving its empty, greasy bag, flapping noisily on the floor until Harry Banished it with a growl. 

The air around Harry seemed to crackle and sparks flew off anything he came into contact with. Unused to dealing with Harry's occasional outbursts, especially as Ron was usually the one to talk him down or yell back at him if necessary, the other aurors exchanged glances and made tracks for the exit, none of them keen to be the one to try and deal with Harry's outburst.

"We'll, er, leave you to, um, settle down a bit, Potter, ok?", Franklin said as he followed his colleagues through the door at some speed. "See you a bit later, yeah? Not to worry!"

As the doors closed behind them, Harry's magic made one last surge, forcing open his desk drawers and spewing their contents onto an already littered floor. Harry sank into his chair, gave a tortured groan and covered his face with his hands.

When, a few minutes later, he lowered his hands and opened his eyes, he realised he was not alone in the room. Harry levelled a rather bleary glare at Malfoy, who was still seated at his desk, bent over a document, scribbling industriously with a ridiculously ornate peacock feather quill.

"What's up Malfoy, more scared of Robards yelling at you for not doing the precious paperwork than of me in a magical meltdown?"

After a couple of seconds, Malfoy paused in his writing, laid his quill down carefully, steepled his fingers together and looked up at Harry. His lips were pursed in a prim manner and he regarded Harry for a moment, staring down his nose, still pointy, and, Harry told himself, still very annoying. Not attractive at all.

"Apart from the fact that I fail to find you even remotely scary", (this last word said with exaggerated eyebrow raising and extra added scorn), "if I learned anything from Moppins, the Manor Nursery Elf, it is that toddler tantrums are best ignored. I have also observed my aunt using the same tactic with some success on young Teddy. You seem calmer now, so presumably it's worked. Please tell me I don't need to move on to sleep training next."

With that, he quirked an eyebrow, pursed his lips again, picked up his quill, rattled his cuffs rather sharply, and resumed his scribbling.

Harry opened and closed his mouth a few times, unable to come up with a satisfactory reply. Eventually, his mouth seemed to operate without reference to his brain.

"Moppins? Moppins the nursery elf?" Harry started sniggering. "Don't tell me, she's practically perfect in every way? Nice rosy cheeks, feet at 10 to 2?" 

Without looking up or stopping working, Malfoy snorted.

"I know you have a strange predilection for house elves Potter, but you will not be luring Moppins away from the Manor with your bizarre compliments. Especially if you make unseemly comments about his physical attributes. Granger would have you fined or signed up for one of her excruciating seminars on creatures and beings."

Harry's sniggers developed into full blown guffaws, and he had to wipe his eyes.

"Moppins is a bloke? Oh that's even better. Classic. I have to meet him some time."

Draco's head snapped up, a furious expression on his face.

"You will most certainly not be meeting him, at any point. The Malfoy family does not have a good history with you and our elves. Or the Black family, come to that. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have extremely important work to get on with and you are, quite frankly, a nuisance. Kindly sort out your mess and leave."

Sobering at the allusion to Dobby and feeling a wave of exhaustion rush over him, as his adrenalin and magic simmered down to more reasonable levels, Harry gazed disconsolately at the ruination that had been his desk. He glanced hopefully at the bent head of his colleague.

"Don't suppose your secretarial duties extend to a little light tidying, do they? Especially as you seem so down with the elves now."

The only responses were a loudly cleared throat and two extended fingers. Harry sighed and began to wave his wand in a half hearted manner, restacking files, refilling drawers, repairing mugs, photograph frames and the pot containing Neville's latest gift. The plant itself wasn't looking too healthy, although Harry felt his grief would be contained if it did not survive. Neville had developed the fleshy succulent in memory of his grandmother, and it seemed to have some of her more challenging characteristics. It sighed and tutted if Harry rushed or did not finish a report before going home, and let out high pitched shrieks if he mentioned going out drinking or made uncomplimentary remarks about his bosses.

Finally, his desk and surrounding area looked almost respectable again. His chair would probably never fully recover, but he could live with that. Hermione would tell him it would serve as a reminder not to repeat his unacceptable behaviour, he was sure. Summoning his cloak from the coat stand, he shrugged it on, grabbed his bag and the (probably useless) report, and headed for the door.

"See you tomorrow," he muttered as he passed by Malfoy's desk.

A deep sigh, followed by: "Sadly, yes, I suppose so," and a wafting motion of dismissal with a languid hand irritated Harry enough to pause at the door; a devilish instinct spurred him into goading Malfoy one more time; having had more feedback from him today than in the past year, he wanted more.

"That quill you use is ridiculous. You're a secretary, not King of the World, why on earth would you use something so over the top? Trying to make yourself look more important?"

Even as he said the words, Harry wanted to suck them back into his mouth, particularly when he saw Malfoy's expression. His eyes were wide open and startled, and sadness chased across his face for a moment, followed by a blank mask and then fury. Harry had quite clearly pushed him one. step. too. far. His lips were drawn back and he was almost spitting in anger when he jumped up and advanced towards Harry, pointing with his index finger (which, Harry figured, was better than his wand).

"Not that you would have even the remotest idea about what constitutes family traditions and the passing on of valuable heirlooms, but my quill was my father's and my grandfather's before him, and is spelled to be used by a true Malfoy. I suppose it's not surprising; with your only family these days consisting of that shambolic ginger tribe, you can't be blamed for being such a heathen. I doubt they've got anything other than used cauldrons, badly knitted jumpers and joke boxes to bequeath to their unpleasant offspring."

Instantly losing any feelings of guilt about his petulance, Harry stepped up, deliberately encroaching on Malfoy's personal space. He kept his voice low, and used the stance he displayed to obnoxious members of the wizarding public when he was trying to intimidate them into behaving themselves. Somewhere, deep inside, he was aware that he was enjoying this distraction from his more pressing problems.

"Shut your filthy mouth about the Weasleys, they've done more good in the wizarding world than anyone in your morally dubious family. They also know more about true family loyalty, rather then your pure blooded pretentiousness. And, actually, my dad left me something a bit more useful than a girly quill. Invisibility cloak much? Which I saw you mooning over when I had it in the office last week. Anyway, your dad's not dead - mores the pity; what's he doing passing on heirlooms to you now? Or did you nick it when he wasn't looking? Do I need to contact the domestic crime department?" This last with an raised brows and a finger held to his chin in query.

Malfoy stepped backwards, straightening his robes and smoothing his expression into a neutral mask once more. Head held high, he fixed Harry with a very hard stare.

"My father passed the quill on to me when I was accepted for this position. He was showing his gratitude for my efforts to redeem the family name. Which I continue to do, by working extremely hard, many more hours than required, and by ensuring that all my assigned tasks are done to the highest standard. A damn site more than I can say for you; blundering erumpent like through your assignments, slacking off to the pub whenever you can and treating paperwork with casual neglect. I suggest you go home and start composing your explanation for Robards; I am pretty sure that more than one of your colleagues will be whining about your pathetic tantrum earlier, and I will definitely be mentioning the bullying tactics you've employed against me this afternoon."

Harry huffed out a laugh. "Yeah, like Robards cares about people having a pop at you. You're still not exactly flavour of the month around here, redeemer of the marvellous name of Malfoy though you may be. Ok, I'll leave you to your lovely quill. And when you get home, you can tell Moppins how nasty Harry bullied you - maybe he'll make you some hot milk and read you a bedtime story. He might even sing you a song!"

Malfoy's indignant shriek followed Harry out of the door, which he slammed behind him, still giggling at the idea of Malfoy being coddled by a nursery elf. Somehow the childish exchange between them had cheered him up; he realised, on reflection, that he'd missed sparring with Malfoy. The other man's forced courteousness had grated on Harry's nerves; he felt oddly exhilarated at having shaken Malfoy out of the unnaturally calm and placid behaviours he had displayed since starting in the auror department. He'd also done Harry a favour by reminding him of how some of the other aurors might not be impressed with his outburst. Once home, he'd be busy sending grovelling owls and promising drinks on him on Friday, in order to stop them complaining to Robards. Shit. What a mess.

Reaching the floos, he called out "37 Denman Mansions," and stepped into the fireplace. No point in hanging round the office any longer, and he'd lost interest in visiting the gym - particularly as some of his auror colleagues were probably already there, gossiping and speculating about his outburst. On stepping out of his fireplace, he did not, however, feel the usual relief and relaxation he normally experienced on returning to his flat, and this added to his existing moodiness. He loved this place. Tucked away in a small wizarding section of a huge rambling set of Victorian mansion flats that stretched over two streets in the still shabby round the edges but upwardly mobile Willesden Green, he felt it was perfect for him. The high ceilings and period features often reminded him of Grimmauld Place, but without the abusive portrait, decapitated elf heads or feelings of guilt. 

He had three bedrooms, so plenty of room for Teddy to stay, and as the other wizards inhabitants were short term overseas tenants studying English, or exploring the UK, they had no interest in his fame and took no notice of the somewhat unauthorised alterations he'd made. Who needed to know that the third bedroom often served as a cleverly expanded Quidditch pitch? 

He had purchased all six flats in his section when they came up for sale after long term squatters had been evicted, and had enjoyed overseeing the renovation of the properties. Rental income from the tenants went into a trust fund for Teddy's future, and Harry enjoyed learning about the wizarding traditions of countries including Australia, Brazil, Poland, Ireland, Nigeria, Jamaica and the entire Indian sub-continent. The fact that the nomadic witches and wizards who he met were often attractive young people like himself, up for a bit of no strings fun in the bedroom, didn't do any harm, either.

The area around Harry's flat, stretching out to a few roads behind his street, was now branded by estate agents as being part of Mapesbury, including it with what was historically a much smaller conservation area of more prestigious housing in a quieter part of the borough. This made no difference to Harry, but caused disgruntlement among some of the older inhabitants, as Harry found when he popped into the paper shop for Extra Strong Mints (Kreacher's favourite) one morning. Mr O'Halloran, one of his Muggle neighbours was deep in discussion with Mrs Desai, who owned the shop with her husband Ravi. 

"Mapesbury my arse," Mr O'Halloran grumbled, his strong Kerry accent undiluted by forty years in London, investigating one ear with a jagged fingernail. Mrs Desai looked askance at the language, but nodded in agreement. "Willesden Green was good enough for me and my family. Far as I'm concerned, posh names mean posh feckin' house prices and council tax," he continued. "How's my Sean to get a foot on the property ladder, I ask, ye, Reena?" 

Mrs Desai made clicking noises with her mouth, shaking her head sadly. "But your Sean is a good boy, and a hard worker. He'll do what my Shilpa did, move a bit further out, you'll see." Mr O'Halloran nodded, rarely despondent for long. "Ah, he'll be grand. Harry, my boy, you look like a man who enjoys his poker. Any Friday night, at mine, from seven of the clock whilst the good woman is at her bingo. What her eye doesn't see her good Catholic heart needn't grieve over!"

Moments like this enchanted Harry and helped him ignore Hermione's nagging disapproval of his casual lifestyle. She fretted that he would not find fulfilment living in what she considered to be such an unsatisfying manner and could not understand why anyone would choose to live in a big, noisy city, when there was so much beautiful countryside to be found in England. When their last discussion had got rather heated, Harry had pointed out that she had grown up in Suffolk and the Scottish Highlands, so wasn't programmed to find cities attractive. He should have stopped there, but went on to add that since her engagement to Ron, she had changed so much that she was now only a small step from knitting them sweaters and humming along to Celestina. This ill advised comment had earned him a painful hex and the silent treatment. But they were ok now. More or less. She'd be fine. Grand, as Mr O'Halloran would say.

Willesden Green was a cosmopolitan mix, with shops and restaurants representing many nationalities. Having grown up with Petunia's very traditional English food and then the excellent but rather unadventurous fare offered by Hogwart's elves and Kreacher, Harry was having a wonderful time experimenting with food from countries as diverse as Japan and the Lebanon. He'd discovered he was open to just about anything, and definitely liked things spicy.

Now, though, despite his disappearing sandwich, he had no appetite. He'd despatched his owl with six parchments for the other aurors, though he couldn't really be bothered to grovel too much. Still, he couldn't afford suspension at the moment, the last thing he wanted was to be banished from the office. Sighing, rubbing his hand over his forehead and sinking into his favourite chair, he picked up the folder and settled down to read the nonsense that it contained. He knew there was no point in dashing out on a pointless attempt to find Garson and Tring, they'd be long gone. Untraceable. Down among the dead men. 

His gut tightened as he recalled the painstaking procedures he and Ron had gone through to ensure that all of their evidence was watertight. Morris Garson and Toby Tring were a revolting pair of individuals, who had barely escaped Azkaban after the second war, having had far too many connections to the Death Eaters and their nefarious doings. Once their freedom was assured, bought for them by Tring's wealthy grandfather, Everton, who ruled over a business empire that dabbled in potions, charm development and industrial level herbology, they set about making money in their own right. Not by any legal means, however. 

Both had a worrying talent with spells, potions and charms that were illegal for very good reasons. When rumours started of a new group of brothels, offering startlingly beautiful young men and women, who were utterly compliant in agreeing to even the most...unusual requests from their clients, the auror department began investigating immediately. Ron and Harry soon found themselves leading the case, and this led to them liaising with Muggle law enforcement, when two young women found wandering dazedly round Knockturn Alley, showed no magical trace. 

They were suffering from total amnesia, and when examined by healers, had obvious signs of sustained sexual abuse and mental torture, along with traces of a previously unknown potion. They matched the descriptions of two Muggle university students, who had disappeared during Fresher's Week at Queen Mary, University of London, only a couple of days after leaving home. Both had been brilliant, high achieving girls who now had to be helped to eat and were residing in the rehabilitation unit of a Muggle mental health facility, with uncertain futures.

Further co-operation between the DMLE and the Met revealed a list of forty missing Muggles, aged between fourteen and twenty three. By employing intense research and calling favours from all of the informants they knew in the London area, Ron and Harry were able to track down six properties spread around the outskirts of the city, each operated by a team of Madames. Raids were carried out, those Muggles who were still able to be brought back to some sort of sense were sorted out at St Mungo's, others were sent to join the first two girls, and many arrests were made.

Harry and Ron had felt rightly proud of themselves and their fellow aurors, but now, it seemed, several key witnesses had vanished from the country, two more were claiming that the aurors had forced false statements from them and yet another had suffered a total mental breakdown and was now an inmate of one of St Mungo's most secure wards. To add insult to injury, eight separate people had come forward to assure the aurors that Messrs Garson and Tring could not possibly have been implicated in the kidnapping and drugging of those Muggles who had been able to give descriptions of their abductions. This was because, apparently, the blameless twosome had been with one or several of the new witnesses on each of the dates concerned, involved in various philanthropic activities. The whole thing stank of Everton Tring's tainted and vile presence; he had obviously had contingency plans in place.

Harry ran his eyes over the sickening words again, then closed the folder carefully and put it down next to him. He rested his head on the back of his chair, eyes closed, trying to keep calm and work out what their next move should be. Before he could come to any sort of useful conclusion, the floo chimed and Ron's lanky body stepped out of the fireplace. He peered at Harry, curiously.

"You all right buddy? I called back to the office, we weren't at the cottage long, but Ferret Boy said you'd left early."

Harry gazed at Ron, feeling overwhelmingly weary and also very relieved that here, at last, was someone who would understand the sheer magnitude of this zone of crap. Without saying a word, he picked up the folder and handed it to Ron. Then waited for the explosion.

He was not disappointed. After ranting and raving whilst striding around Harry's living room for at least fifteen minutes, Ron knelt down at the floo and yelled for Hermione to come through. He also called on his father, Bill and George; all people he felt could be of use in coming up with an appropriate action plan. Charlie's plan would inevitably involve dragons, not of any practical use in this situation; Ginny and Harry were still not in a place where they could be civil to each other and...Percy? Well. Limits are there for a reason.

***********************************************************************

The following morning, Thursday, saw Harry and Ron trudging into the office, both exhausted and depressed. Little progress had been made the previous night, despite lengthy and, at times, acrimonious discussions. As Arthur had said, whilst Robards and Kingsley Shacklebolt, the current Minister, were as tight as they seemed to be, it was going to be difficult to crack the Head Auror. Arthur was advising caution and care; he was desperately worried, but knew how the machinations of the Ministry often stonewalled internal investigations.

Because Robards had to be complicit in this. Which made Harry feel all kinds of sick. He'd never had a lot of time for the surly man, but had always thought that he held the best interests of the department at his heart. Clearly, that was not the case, but they had no concrete proof. George, in particular, had come up with a variety of ideas for exposing Robards, but none were fool proof. The first stage had to be fining a way to get through to the Minister, away from his office, and he was notoriously tight lipped about his private life.

Before sitting at his desk and going through that morning's post, Harry stopped by Malfoy's desk. The secretary fixed him with a haughty glare, but said nothing. Harry felt his face flushing.

"Um, Malfoy. About yesterday. I was...completely out of order. I shouldn't have goaded you or said I wished your father was dead or....any of the other things, actually. I apologise, it was absolutely unacceptable behaviour and you didn't deserve it. I'm sorry."

Malfoy shuffled the papers on his desk, swallowed hard, sniffed and seemed to be searching for words. Eventually, he murmured: "Apology accepted, Potter. I understand yesterday was....challenging. Still, be aware: Moppins is off limits."

Harry grinned, nodded and made his way over to his wobbly chair. Whilst going through some paperwork, his skin prickled and he looked up to see Malfoy staring at him thoughtfully. A few minutes later the secretary appeared by his desk.

"If you could look at my notes on this file, Auror Potter, I need some clarification on various points."

Harry sighed; he was well acquainted with the fussy little notes that Malfoy attached to Auror reports, requesting further information or supplying criticism of his handwriting. On this occasion, however, the note did not refer to the file in question. Instead it read:

 

Potter

I have some information that I suspect is relevant to your enquiry. I am not happy to discuss this in the office, so perhaps you can suggest a meeting place and time that is convenient. 

DM

Harry glanced round to make sure that no one else had seen the missive, and penned a quick reply. 

7.30 tonight. Floo to 37 Denman Mansions, NW2. Memorise and destroy. 

He dropped the file on Malfoy's desk and sauntered out of the office, looking back at the door to see the other man open the file, read the reply, and roll his eyes. Harry smirked to himself and wandered down to the tea room, where, if he was correct, Ron would be about to consume his second cuppa of the morning. Ron raised his eyebrows when he saw Harry approaching.

"Ok?," he queried.

"Yep." Harry busied himself with the kettle and then said, as though he'd just thought of it:

"Fancy coming round to mine tonight? I picked up some vintage Quidditch magazines at the weekend. They're fascinating, quite a few articles on the Cannons when they were half decent."

As they'd spent several hours perusing these very magazines a few days previously, Ron could be excused for looking rather confused. He recovered quickly, however, and agreed amiably, with a questioning glint in his eye.

"7.15 ok?," Harry said. "Tell 'Mione to come as well, we'll get takeaway. There's a new Jamaican place, does amazing patties."

He went back to the office with his cuppa, assured a couple of his colleagues that drinks were still most definitely on him on the following night, and settled down to be as unnoticeable as possible whilst researching archived files concerning the previous activities of Mr Everton Tring. No new field cases were assigned to him for the day and he made sure to leave at his usual time.

Ron and Hermione arrived promptly, and after a rapid briefing and the inevitable reaction from Ron, Harry went to meet Malfoy at the floo when it chimed, leaving the other two in a tense and muttered conversation.

He made sure to have a welcoming expression on his face, and thanked Malfoy for coming.

"Did you eat yet? We've got takeaway, you're welcome to share with us if you'd like. It's Jamaican food, lovely if you like spicy stuff, and I know I've got way too much."

Malfoy looked surprised but pleased and agreed amiably. The four of them sat down to a feast of vegetable patties, curry goat, salt cod, plantain and rice and peas. Harry had managed to get some Jamaican beers as well, although Hermione and Malfoy stuck to water. 

Harry tried to ignore the urge to stare at Malfoy's eyelashes; the evening sun glinting through the window kept catching them -they were unbelievably long. He forced himself to focus on something else, and realised that Malfoy was obviously enjoying the food, unfazed by the spicy flavours. At Harry's enquiring look of surprise, Malfoy smirked.

"Did I never mention our holidays in the Caribbean, Potter? Father's uncle had an estate near Montego Bay, we often popped over for a few days. Mother became expert in sun protection charms; Malfoys don't tan."

Harry frowned and debated whether to ask about the possibly dubious humanitarian issues relating to the background of the family estate. Before he could say anything, Malfoy smirked again and pointed his fork at Harry in an unusual display of poor table manners.

"Hah! Don't worry, no slavery issues here! Just a pleasant family summer home. Honestly, Potter, who needs slaves when house elves are abundant?"

Harry snapped his head around to gaze in horror at Hermione, but she was smiling and shaking her head at Malfoy.

"Never gets old, Draco," she murmured, and then turned a quizzical gaze on Harry. "What? Can't I joke with an old school mate?" Harry's expression, not unlike that of a stunned fish, made her giggle. "Do settle down, Harry, chill out a bit. Draco and I both have executive positions on the House Elf Advisory Body; he's been amazing in implementing sensitively applied reforms to many of the more traditional wizarding families." 

Harry twisted to stare at Ron in an interrogatory fashion. Ron gazed back, shrugging and looking helpless.

"Honestly, mate, she's on so many committees, I can't keep up. Apparently, he's her latest best buddy."

Malfoy smiled at Harry, looking appropriately smug, and then cleared his throat.

"Did you want me to share my information, or am I just here to be decorative?"

Harry felt knocked off balance, but rallied and glared at Malfoy:

"Please, go ahead, you obviously have something important to tell us."

Malfoy gave a casual shrug and examined his fingernails. Why did he have such elegant and long fingered hands, Harry wondered; was it a pureblood thing? He shook this thought off as Malfoy replied:

"I don't know about that, but I thought you might like to know that the Minister has a new lady friend. Whom he visits at least twice a week, and who happens to be my Aunt Andromeda. I'm fairly sure that might be useful in contacting him to persuade him that his friend Robards is not as pure as the driven snow." 

Harry absorbed this information and felt a rush of exhilaration. He jumped to his feet and beamed at his colleague.

"Wow. Yes. Wow, that's brilliant. Thanks Malfoy, I could hug you."

Malfoy looked moderately horrified and shifted in his seat, uncomfortably.

"I think not, Potter, kindly control yourself. Also, and this is definitely more pertinent, my enquiries have established that Head Auror Robards has a son who has, shall we say, managed to get on the wrong side of Everton Tring."

Harry's first instinct was to leap around the room, celebrating this marvellous breakthrough. Something stopped him. He moved closer to Malfoy and tried to establish eye contact.

"Hang on. Your enquiries? What enquiries? You aren't an auror. Why are you making enquiries?"

Malfoy avoided his gaze and looked evasive.

"Well, things sort of fall into my lap sometimes, when I'm analysing certain documents. I still have some...interesting contacts who aren't willing to talk to the aurors. And I'm not exactly slow, I can work things out more quickly than most of your dim-witted colleagues. I just...pursued certain areas of enquiry. That's all. Merlin, Potter, focus on the bigger picture."

Harry glared at him, but his mind was racing with this new information.

"Ok. So we approach Kingsley, let him know we know about him and Andie and tell him that Robards is clearly being blackmailed by Everton Tring. Do we have solid evidence?"

Malfoy looked irritated. "Obviously. I have letters and photographs, proving that Lance Robards took on a contract to supply Tring with Muggle drugs, accepted a hefty pay off and decided to part with only some of the goods; he sold the rest back to a Muggle dealer."

Ron frowned. "Muggle drugs? What's that about? There are enough potions and charms around that wizards don't need to buy Muggle stuff, surely?

But Hermione was jiggling around in her chair, looking excited. "No, no hang on. Didn't the healers reports state that there were traces of unknown substances in the blood results? I bet what Garson and Tring used to alter the mental state of all those poor people contained a mix of Muggle drugs and wizarding potions. Oh Merlin, this is bad...hold on, why have you kept this to yourself until now, Malfoy?"

Three pairs of eyes glared at Malfoy with varying levels of suspicion. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and made an appeasing gesture with his hands.

"I know, I know, it looks bad, but truly, I only discovered the most telling pieces of information a couple of days ago. I was going to ask to speak to you yesterday Potter, anyway, before all this kicked off. I figured you'd be the most likely to listen without immediately condemning me, I'm not exactly on cordial speaking terms with most of the aurors."

Hermione switched her glare to Ron, who blushed and looked away. Harry still stood, staring at Malfoy, his brain racing with tactics to be employed.

"Ok," he said eventually. "Ok, here's a plan. We find out when Kingsley's next going to be at Andie's, corner him there. He'll be a bit embarrassed and we can use that to our advantage, get him to listen to us, away from the Ministry. I want to discuss it away from there, to be sure no one else who is involved in this can't eavesdrop in any fashion, and we can show him Malfoy's evidence. With Robards implicated, the investigation will have to be headed by Kingsley now, anyway. Safe?"

Ron gave a weak grin at the use of the word they always employed before embarking on a field op. "Yep. Seems safe to me. D'ye know when Kingsley is next due over, Ferret?"

Malfoy's face changed to his default blank mask and he stared at Ron. Ron grinned at him. "Ah, come on, it's more or less a term of endearment now, get over yourself!"

Malfoy relaxed and raised an eyebrow. "As long as you're prepared to take as well as you give, Weasel. And my mother informed me this morning that the Minister will be dining with my aunt on Saturday evening. It proved a very tiresome conversation; my mother is positively giddy about this relationship. I had to take comfort in my father's facial expressions whilst she was waxing poetic about Andromeda's future plans."

**************************************************************************************

As it was decided that less was definitely more in this situation, only Harry and Malfoy flooed into Andromeda's living room just before 8pm on Saturday. They didn't want to overwhelm the Minister, and Hermione and Ron were also busy finalising plans for the cottage they had decided they wanted to buy.

Both Andromeda and Kingsley were initially surprised and embarrassed, and then rather cross. However, reassuringly quickly they settled down to listen to the two young men, and soon became engrossed in what they had to say.

When their tale had been told and the evidence presented, Harry and....Draco (when had he become Draco? Sometime during the day on Saturday, amidst lively discussions and arguments about how best to present their case), sat back at stared at the Minister expectantly.

He gazed back at them, a sombre expression on his face, and sat very still for a few seconds. Then, he nodded and looked back at the paperwork.

"Just give me a little time to look through this again. And to think about what our next steps should be. Whatever we do has to be done right first time, can't risk any jarveys in the broompile again. Leave all this with me, I'll speak to you both in the morning."

Harry glanced at Draco and then back at the Minister. "Ok, sir, no problem. I should, er, probably just say that those documents....aren't the originals; we've got them."

Draco and his aunt shot scandalised glares at Harry, but Kingsley flung his head back and laughed out loud, seeming relaxed for the first time since his dinner date had been shot down.

"Very wise, son, very wise. Rest assured, I'm not going to be incinerating these and ordering your immediate transfer to Janus Thickey. You've both done a good job; I'm convinced, and I already knew there was something not right when those two ingrates were released. Have to say though, what's really made me certain you're right is seeing you two working together in a civil manner! Never would have thought it possible. Now, be off with you, enjoy what's left of your Saturday and leave us to do the same. Oh, and Draco - once this is all over, come and talk to me about a more appropriate position for you with the auror department!"

Having made their farewells, Harry touched Draco's arm before they flooed. "Back to mine?"

Draco hesitated, looking uncertain, but then nodded. Once back in Harry's living room, they stared at each other, identical grins of triumph on their faces, but lost for words. Harry was the first to speak.

"So, looks like it might be Auror Malfoy soon, eh?"

Draco looked proud. "Indeed. And who knows, Head Auror Potter?"

Harry spluttered. "I do NOT think so, plenty more suitable choices. Let's floo Ron, then we have to celebrate."

Ron was delighted to be updated, but had to pass on the celebrating as Hermione already had plans set in stone for their Saturday night. Not wanting to be given any details, Harry rushed through the rest of the conversation and sat back to grin at Malfoy again.

"Hungry?" he queried. Malfoy shrugged.

"Yes, I think so. I'm not sure actually, still a bit.....weird after all of this."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Well I'm starving, and Sanzio is calling me."

Malfoy stood up, looking awkward and uncomfortable. "Ok, well you'd better answer him then, I'll speak to you tomorrow about the case if Kingsley gets in touch."

Harry laughed and grabbed Malfoy's arm; the git was adorable when he was knocked off balance. "No, idiot, Sanzio is a fantastic Italian restaurant just up the road. Let's walk up and see if there's a table free, their Arancini are to die for, there's a different filling every week."

Draco bit his lip, then shrugged again. "Very well. Jamaican the other day, Italian today. Why not?"

Once they were seated at a small corner table for two, Draco looked around the restaurant with an interested air. "Very pleasant, in a rustic manner. And, Potter, rather on the romantic side. Fancy your chances do you?"

He smirked at Harry, clearly expecting him to blush and splutter something nonsensical, but instead, the other man leaned back in his chair, gave a definitely flirtatious smile back and simply said: "Maybe."

Draco's eyes opened wide and he felt his cheeks heat. "Right. Um. Can we talk about that later, maybe? Now, I'd like to thank you for telling Kingsley that all of the research was mine."

Harry frowned. "Why on earth wouldn't I? It was the truth. A bit embarrassing, maybe, that someone who isn't an auror - yet - had done such stirling work, but no way would I try and cover that up. There's been enough of that going on recently!"

Draco was staring down at the table, seemingly deep in thought. Harry slid one hand across the table and laced his fingers with Draco's. Draco jolted and looked up at him with startled expression, but did not remove his fingers. Harry rubbed his thumb along Draco's and smiled.

"I may be totally wrong here, Draco, but I don't think so. I like you, quite a lot actually, and I know you've dated guys in the past. I have as well, and after many lectures from Hermione about the value of proper relationships, I'm finally ready to jump into one. It might seem unlikely, us two getting together, and it might be a bit of a surprise to you, me saying this, but I think we should give it a go....What do you think?"

He was surprised to see Draco relax and assume a rather superior expression on his face.

"Firstly, Harry, if we're doing the first name thing now, it is most certainly not a surprise to me. And won't be to anyone else in the auror office who has witnessed your episodes of gormless, dreamy gazing at me whenever you are supposed to be attending to paperwork. It is, however, somewhat surprising to me that I reciprocate those feelings, and am actually considering this. With the right ground rules, obviously. I do not share and am extremely high maintenance; things you need to take into consideration."

"Um, right," Harry responded, choosing to ignore the gormless gazing comment. "I think I can safely say that the high maintenance bit is not a shock. Or a concern. And the sharing bit, you don't have to worry there, I may not have done long term relationships since Gin, but I don't cheat. And, if you're high maintenance, I'm a bit of a disaster sometimes, but I figure you already know that. So....are we doing this?"

Draco smiled down at their linked fingers and moved one of his feet to press against Harry's shoe. "Oh, I think so. Apart from anything else, I want to see what happens to the Weasel's face when you tell him. Now, where's the waiter, I need to find out which is the most expensive dish on the menu - I should warn you that I don't come cheap, Harry."

Warmth, happiness and anticipation spread through Harry's veins. With the upcoming investigation, the shake up in the auror department's hierarchy and whatever this new thing with Draco was, the immediate future looked very promising indeed. He smiled at Draco. "Order whatever you like, it's on me. So, when do I get to meet Moppins?"


End file.
